


i could be perfect

by sugaplumvisions



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oikawa Tooru's Knee Injury, Whump, someone put this boy in therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:06:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24414070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugaplumvisions/pseuds/sugaplumvisions
Summary: When Oikawa's knee starts acting up again, his chances at the Olympics slip farther and farther through his grasp. Iwaizumi is there to break his fall.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 11
Kudos: 146





	i could be perfect

It’s just a twinge in his knee. That’s all. It can’t be anything more. 

The nagging pain grows stronger as he plays, but he pushes through it. So what if he took a handful of ibuprofen before practice? That’s normal. Everybody gets sore. 

He’s going for a jump serve when it happens. His knee buckles under him, and he doesn’t leave the ground. 

Fuck. 

He crumples. His coach comes rushing over. 

“Are you all right?” 

“Yeah, Coach. I’m fine,” he lies. 

“You don’t look fine,” his coach says. “You look like you’re in a heap on the court.” He gestures to Oikawa’s current predicament. 

“It’s just my knee,” Oikawa says. “It does this every so often.” 

“Can you walk on it?” His coach shifts uncomfortably, balling up one hand and fidgeting with the fingers of the other. 

“Yeah,” Oikawa says, easing himself up. His knee hurts like hell, but he’s able to limp on it ever-so-carefully. 

His coach looks pointedly at his grimace.  _ “Should _ you walk on it?” 

“I’m fine,” Oikawa insists. “I can make it home.” 

“You’re not going anywhere,” his coach says. “You need to have the team physician look at it.” 

“Fine, fine,” Oikawa says. “I’ll just...go over there.” 

“We’re stretchering you over,” his coach says. 

“I can walk just fine,” Oikawa protests. 

“You cannot and you will not,” the coach says. Four men bustle to his side with a stretcher. 

Oikawa frowns deeply. This is the last thing he needs: more fuss over his stupid knee. “Fine,” he says. “I’ll let you do it.” 

He wonders, while he’s being lifted and carried, what he did wrong. If he just over-exerted it again, if he hasn’t been doing his physical therapy regularly enough, if he just stepped on it wrong and it was rotten luck that it happened to be his bad knee. 

“Let’s see what we have here,” the doctor says as the men lower him onto the exam table. “What’s going on?” 

“My knee,” Oikawa says. “It gave out while I was trying to do a jump serve.” 

“What’s your pain on a scale of one to ten?” 

“Three,” Oikawa lies. It actually feels like about a seven. He flinches when the doctor touches his knee. He stays silent through gritted teeth as the doctor manipulates it, checking his now-limited range of motion and feeling for breaks. When the doctor presses on the front of his knee, he screams. 

“Some three,” the doctor says. “It’s definitely a return of the patellar tendonitis. I’m sending you in for an MRI. Immediately. I’m putting a stronger brace on it in the meantime, and putting you on crutches.” 

The coach comes in shortly after the men with the stretcher leave. 

“What’s the verdict?” 

“I’m sending him in for further testing,” the team doctor says. “It doesn’t warrant an ambulance, but he does need immediate care.” 

“I’m calling your emergency contact,” his coach says. 

“Don’t!” Oikawa says, taking a step back and frowning. The last thing he needs is Iwaizumi getting called to deal with what’s probably nothing. “I’ll call a cab.” 

“Fine, but I’m walking you out to make sure you give them the right address,” the coach says. 

“What? Don’t you trust me?” Oikawa asks as the doctor unstraps his knee brace and puts on a new, stiffer one. 

“You? Not as far as I can throw you,” the coach says. 

Oikawa looks at his coach’s muscled frame and figures he could throw him pretty far, but, for once in his life, keeps his mouth shut, probably due to the excruciating pain coming from his knee. 

“You know how to use crutches?” the doctor asks. 

“This isn’t my first time with a knee injury,” Oikawa says. He shifts uncomfortably on the exam table. 

“I know,” the doctor says.He frowns down at Oikawa. “That’s why I’m worried.” 

#####

Oikawa waits for an hour in the hospital, leg straightened out at an awkward angle and blocking the chair next to him. His crutches are on the other side of him, blocking the other chair. The last thing he wants is to have someone sitting next to him and getting him sick or, worse, trying to talk to him. 

“Oikawa?” the nurse calls. She gestures him back. “We have a room.” 

Oikawa begins to hobble back to the room, the agony of each step showing on his face. 

“Do you want a wheelchair?” the nurse asks. 

“I’m fine,” Oikawa snaps. “I mean, I’m fine,” he says, voice softer this time. He nods at her as if some small bit of politeness will redeem him. “Thank you.” 

“If you’re sure,” the nurse says. 

Oikawa is pretty good on crutches by now, having been on them for his knee before, and is able to easily keep pace with her. He moves back to his room and changes into the thin fabric gown provided, thankful he’s at least allowed to keep his boxers on so he doesn’t flash everyone. 

His phone buzzes, and Oikawa looks down at it. 

_ Iwa-chan: Where are you?????? I brought dinner home. _

Iwaizumi. Of course. 

_ Oikawa: Chill, Iwa-chan. Practice is running late, _ Oikawa sends back. 

_ Iwa-Chan: Well hurry up. Dinner is going to get old and it’ll all be your fault _

_ Oikawa: Coach wants us to do some bullshit “team-building.” Maybe put it in the oven to keep it warm?  _

He’s lying through his teeth, and he knows it, but something inside him tells him that Iwaizumi can’t find out about this. 

_ Iwa-chan: It’s sushi, genius.  _

_ Oikawa: Well OBVIOUSLY don’t put it in the oven then!  _

As he finishes typing and hits send, a nurse walks into the room. 

“Oikawa Tooru?” he says. 

“Just one moment.” He types quickly. 

_ Oikawa: G2g coach looking at me _

_ Iwa-chan: Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.  _

_ Oikawa: Lol.  _

Oikawa looks up at the nurse. “What can I do for you?” 

“You can come with me to get an MRI,” the nurse says.

“Okay,” Oikawa says, because he can’t think of anything better to respond with. “Thanks.” 

Oikawa hates this part. It’s not that he’s claustrophobic, it’s just that it sure feels a lot like being buried alive. 

Okay. Maybe he’s a little claustrophobic. But it always makes him feel like he’s not quite able to breathe when he’s in the machine. At least his head will be out of the machine, with only his legs inside. 

He controls his breathing when they lift him in. It’s going to be fine. At least they let him listen to music, though the channel they put it on is classic rock. It probably could be less to his tastes, but it’s hard to imagine how.

He grimaces through the whole procedure, and not only because his knee hurts. It feels like it’s taking forever. The pounding of the MRI sounds like nails being hammered in his coffin. 

What if he can’t play anymore? He has to be able to play. He’s going to the Olympics. 

He has to. 

#####

“Oikawa Tooru?” the doctor asks as he walks into the room. 

“Give me the news,” Oikawa says. It’s almost snappish, but the pain and anxiety have him speaking curtly. 

“As your doctor suspected, you have a nasty recurrence of patellar tendonitis. You’re going to need rest, six to eight months of it. You’ll need to keep off of it as much as possible during that period, and cut down on your activity afterwards.” 

“I can’t!” Oikawa protests. “I’m an athlete!” 

“I assumed as much; this is very common in athletes, especially basketball and volleyball.” 

“Olympic volleyball,” Oikawa says. 

The doctor sucks in a breath. “I’m so sorry. You’re not going to be able to make the Olympics.” 

No. That can’t be true. There’s always a second option, a way to get what he wants. 

“And if I do?” Oikawa asks. 

“Against medical advice? Sure, you could play at the Olympics. But it’ll be the end of your career.” 

Oikawa feels like he’s going to vomit. He feels the cold sweat come over him. He’s shaking all over. It can’t be. He’s so young. This can’t be it for him. 

But if he’s going to go out, he’s going to go out after winning gold. 

#####

“What the hell happened to you?” Iwaizumi says as he walks in the door. 

“Hello, Oikawa. How are you, Oikawa. Can I get you anything or take care of your poor injured self, Oikawa,” Oikawa says. He rolls his eyes, plastering on some kind of semblance of normalcy. 

“Hello, Oikawa. What the hell happened to you?”

“I strained my knee, that’s all. The doctor says it’ll be fine. Just alternating ice and heat.” 

“Are they sure that’s all it is?” Iwaizumi says. “Here, sit.” He throws one of the decorative couch cushions on the ground. 

Oikawa eases himself into the seat, and he’s loath to admit it, but it sure does feel good to be able to relax his leg. 

“It’s fine. It’s a normal person injury. The tendonitis is still healed up, they said.” 

“Are they sure?” Iwaizumi says. 

“I’m completely sure,” Oikawa lies. 

It hits him as he sits alone, Iwaizumi fumbling in the fridge for an ice pack. Two months. He has two more months, and then after that he’ll never play volleyball again. 

It’s a non-choice. There’s no way in hell he’s turning down the Olympics, even if it leaves him injured for the rest of his life. It’s the  _ Olympics. _ His final chance to prove himself--and he knows he’s good enough. He came back to Japan for this, moved into Iwaizumi’s grandmother’s old apartment for this. He’s not going to let his life be turned upside down for nothing, even if it’ll just flip all over again when it’s done. 

He has to do this. 

“I got you an ice pack, a salmon roll, some tuna, some eel… And a tamago roll, like I know you like.” Iwaizumi hands him a plate and some chopsticks 

Oikawa greedily shoves the eel in his face, saving the tamago roll for last. He lifts his knee to let Iwaizumi put the ice pack underneath it. 

“Thamks,” he says through a mouth full of sushi, ignoring the chills that run through him when Iwaizumi touches his knee, the ones that aren’t just from the ice pack. 

Iwaizumi must have showered since work. He doesn’t smell like sauteed garlic and ginger; he smells like his deodorant and Oikawa’s green apple shampoo. 

“Did you steal my shampoo?” Oikawa asks. 

“You literally told me I could borrow some this morning.” 

“When you left at asscrack-o’-clock? How am I supposed to remember anything you said then?” Oikawa asks. “All I’m getting from this is that you used my shampoo both before and after work.” 

“It was  _ nine,  _ Oikawa. I like to be clean,” Iwaizumi says. “Unlike you who, I will say in charitable terms, fucking reeks.” 

“I can’t shower on this knee,” Oikawa says. 

“Well I guess you’re going to have to stink up the apartment until I can go get you a shower chair. To repeat my previous question, what the hell happened to you?” 

“You’re going to laugh,” Oikawa says. 

“I won’t laugh at you,” Iwaizumi says. It’s surprisingly earnest and Oikawa has to take a moment to calm his heart. 

“I fell down the steps coming out of the building.” 

Iwaizumi coughs, something that suspiciously sounds like a muffled laugh. 

“See? You told me you weren’t going to laugh at me,” Oikawa says. 

“And I didn’t!” Iwaizumi protests. He sobers. “How is this going to affect the Olympics?” 

“Just a couple of days off. I can play through it after that.” 

“Should you?” Iwaizumi says, raising his eyebrows. 

“It’s the  _ Olympics, _ Iwa-chan! I have to go to the Olympics!” 

“Fine. Just...take care of yourself.” Iwaizumi sighs. “You can’t fuck up your knee for good, you know.” 

Oikawa laughs, and hopes that Iwaizumi doesn’t hear how bitter it is. “I’m not going to.” 

#####

When he arrives at practice the next day, intending to sit in even if he can’t participate for a day or two, he’s greeted by his coach and the team doctor. 

“Come into my office,” the coach says. 

Oikawa hobbles in on his crutches and sits down. 

“I got your results,” the doctor says. “They’re...not good.” 

“I know,” Oikawa says, the pit dropping out of his stomach. 

“We’re pulling you from the team,” the coach says. 

“You can’t pull me! Not now! They said I could still make the Olympics!” 

“And ruin your knee for the rest of your life?” the doctor says. “I saw the results. You’d need surgery, and even then it would likely be career-ending. Your knee would never be the same.” 

“It’s already ruined!” Oikawa protests. His face is heating up, warmed even farther by hot tears streaming down it. “You’d be ruining my life, not just my knee! I’m an adult; I can choose what to do with my life!” 

“It’s my responsibility as your coach to take care of you,” his coach says. 

“And mine as your doctor to not let you hurt yourself.” 

“You can’t stop me from playing!” Oikawa yells. “This is my life! This is all I’m good for!” 

“It’s not--” the coach begins. 

The doctor takes a deep breath. “It’s against medical advice, you must know.” 

“I know,” Oikawa says. “Please don’t pull me. I’ll do my physical therapy religiously. I’ll work harder than anybody else. And if I’m performing badly,  _ then _ you can pull me. But I won’t be. I’ll be perfect.” 

“If it were a question of effort,” the coach says, “I know you’d put it in.” 

“You’ll have to be careful with yourself,” the doctor says. “I’ll help you with your physical therapy, of course.” 

Oikawa’s head shoots up. He almost immediately stops crying. “You’re letting me play?” 

“On a trial basis. But we’re also going to pull in a third setter, in case you’re unable to play.” 

“Tobio,” Oikawa says. 

The coach nods. “Even if you’re able to play, it’ll give him a head start on next Olympics.” 

Oikawa feels sick again. Next Olympics, he’ll be in the stands, cheering for Kageyama as he has everything Oikawa should. 

“But this Olympics?” Oikawa asks. 

“Do your physical therapy,” the doctor says. “Don’t overstress yourself. 

“And?” Oikawa says.

His coach smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You’ll be on the court.” 

#####

Oikawa curses loudly on his way out of his room. 

“You okay there?” Iwaizumi asks.

“My stupid room,” Oikawa says. “I don’t have the time to clean it! And I can’t get around on these stupid fucking crutches!” Oikawa lifts one crutch and waves it in the air. 

“Sounds like a you problem,” Iwaizumi says flippantly. “What do they have you doing at practice, anyway?” 

“There’s plenty to do with volleyball that isn’t just jumping around, you know,” Oikawa says. “Plus the doctor’s working with me to get my knee back in Olympic shape. There’s so much physical therapy.” 

“As usual,” Iwaizumi says. “You had been keeping up on your PT beforehand, right? This isn’t a recurrence?” 

“It’s a normal person sprain from doing a normal person stupid thing,” Oikawa says, gesturing down to his knee. “It’s honestly embarrassing to hurt my knee like that.” 

“You don’t think it could cause a flare, do you?” Iwaizumi asks, chewing his lip. 

“It won’t,” Oikawa says decisively, ignoring the bile rising in his throat. 

“Just...take care of yourself,” Iwaizumi says, crossing the room with an inscrutable expression on his face. He lays a hand on Oikawa’s shoulder. “Promise me you won’t overwork yourself?” 

Oikawa feels a twinge of guilt for lying this time. “I promise.” 

#####

Breathe through the stretch. Feel his hamstring extend. Keep going. Keep stretching. Get limber. Get relaxed. Force his leg to behave itself. 

Breathe through the exercises. Lift the leg, lower the leg. Lift the leg, lower the leg. Ignore the press of the floor against his cheek. Ignore the feeling that the leg doesn’t belong to him anymore, that it’s turned against him and trying to ruin his life. Don’t dissociate. Don’t fall apart. Keep going. The doctor said 30. Do 45. 

#####

“Please tell me I don’t have to cook,” Oikawa says as he walks through the door. 

“You’re home,” Iwaizumi says, face lined with concern and what looks like...anger? 

“What’s up with you?”

“We need to talk,” Iwaizumi says. He holds up a sheaf of papers. “When were you going to tell me?” 

Oikawa braces himself on one leg and the crutches, standing up to his full height and narrowing his eyes. “Tell you what?” 

“That your knee is fucked beyond belief. That if you do the Olympics it’s the end for you. It’s not a sprain! You lied to me!” Iwaizumi takes a step forward, looming. 

“Why the hell were you in my room?” Oikawa asks, eyes blazing, instantly on the defensive. 

“I was trying to clean it and do you a favor!” Iwaizumi says. “You were gonna kill yourself on your crutches in there. Why the hell were you hiding this from me? Were you going to just ruin your knee without telling me?” 

“It’s my body,” Oikawa says. “I get to make the choice. You’re not keeping me out of the Olympics.” 

“You can’t fucking go now. Are you delusional? Do you not realize that everything would be over for you?” 

“How  _ dare _ you accuse me of that. Don’t you think it haunts me every moment I’m awake?” Oikawa sets his jaw and furrows his brow. He finally gives in to the pain and takes a step to the side, towards the couch, and sinks into it, welcoming the relief of sitting. “Asleep too,” he says, acutely aware of the height differential between him and Iwaizumi now. “I dream about screwing it at the Olympics every damn night, it feels like.” 

“So you don’t care about the rest of your life?” Iwaizumi asks. “What do you expect to do? Do you think you’ll get by on just your charm? On sponsorships for a sport you can’t play? Are you going to fall back on your nonexistent education? Work in a little fucking shop after being an Olympic athlete?” 

“Leave me alone,” Oikawa says. 

He turns his head away from Iwaizumi. He’d known already that volleyball is his life, his purpose, all he’s good for, but Iwaizumi didn’t have to spell it out in so many words. It stings like he’s been slapped, hard. 

“I’m not going to sit back and let you destroy yourself!” Iwaizumi yells. He takes another step towards Oikawa, and Oikawa ever-so-slightly flinches. 

“What if it’s worth it? Why the fuck do you care so much?” Oikawa blinks away the tears that have suddenly sprung up in his eyes. 

“Because I love you, you bastard!” Iwaizumi says, leaning forward, hands balled up into fists. 

“You love me?” Oikawa says, leaning forward, grinding his teeth together between sentences. “Suddenly you  _ love _ me? You never said this shit before?” 

“I never. I mean...That’s beside the point!” Iwaizumi says, suddenly on the defensive. 

“I went to fucking  _ Argentina _ to get over you, and you’re just saying this shit now?” Oikawa asks. 

“You never said it either,” Iwaizumi protests. 

“You idiot,” Oikawa says. “I never thought I had to.” 

“Well you did,” Iwaizumi says. 

“It’s not relevant anymore,” Oikawa says. “Just because you ‘love me’”-- he makes air quotes as he speaks--”doesn’t give you any right to tell me what to do. Just give me this one shining moment. I could be perfect!” 

“For a second!” Iwaizumi protests. 

“And that’s fucking long enough,” Oikawa says. His eyes are ice. “So put up or shut up.” 

“I’m...gonna go now,” Iwaizumi says. He swivels on his heel and walks off into his room. “Dinner’s on the counter.” 

#####

Squat. Keep the ball pinned to the wall. Keep his body straight. Push through the pain in the leg.

Repeat, repeat, repeat. 

The doctor says 40. Do 80. Work harder. Be good enough for the Olympics. 

Be good enough to prove Iwaizumi wrong.

#####

The apartment is quiet. It’s quiet for a long time, as Oikawa works his knee back to some semblance of normal and Iwaizumi hides in his room. Iwaizumi dutifully brings home leftovers from the restaurant, but he eats while Oikawa is at practice and leaves Oikawa’s share in the fridge. 

“I’m home,” Oikawa calls as he enters the apartment, more out of reflex than truly wanting to share with Iwaizumi that he’s arrived. 

Iwaizumi is sitting in the armchair in the living room. He nods awkwardly at Oikawa. “Olympics next week?” 

Oikawa nods. 

“You don’t...is it okay if I still come?” 

“Yeah,” Oikawa says. 

“I’m sorry,” Iwaizumi says. “I shouldn’t have, I mean.” He sighs. “I still don’t agree with you but it’s your body.” 

“It is.” Oikawa steps into the kitchen and rummages in the fridge for dinner. 

“I thought I’d get us takeout today,” Iwaizumi says. “Something different from the fancy food.” 

“You don’t have to earn this,” Oikawa says. “We can put it behind us.” He closes the fridge door. “Though I’m not going to turn down something trashy and greasy.” 

“I already ordered you a burger,” Iwaizumi says. 

Oikawa walks into the living room and sinks down onto the couch. “Extra onion?” 

“And onion rings, you stinky bastard.” 

Oikawa smiles. It’s cautious, but it’s there. “My hero.” 

#####

Practice the next day is an exercise in elation. He sets to his teammates for hours, every toss nigh-perfect. The leg is only a twinge, an easy, familiar pain to push through. Iwaizumi is behind him again, and Oikawa can do anything. 

He practices jump serve after jump serve with a manic grin. He’s got this. He’s going to the Olympics and he’s going to--

And then he’s on the ground. Someone is screaming and it takes him a moment to fight through the pain to realize that it’s him. 

“Oikawa! Oikawa, what happened?” the coach asks. 

“I-- _ fuck _ .” 

“Someone get the doctor,” his coach yells. “Someone get a stretcher.” 

Oikawa’s shoulders sag. 

“I’m sorry,” is all the coach says. 

“Yeah,” Oikawa gasps out. “Me too.” 

#####

“I came as soon as they called me,” Iwaizumi says. He’s in the hospital room almost as soon as Oikawa is wheeled back. 

“Hurts,” is all Oikawa can say. 

“Yeah, I should think so,” Iwaizumi says. He steps forward and lays a hand on Oikawa’s shoulder.

“Not going to the Olympics,” Oikawa says, words sharp and short and stuttered through quick breaths. “Fuckin...Tobio is going.” He hangs his head. “Deserves it.” 

“So do you,” Iwaizumi says. 

Oikawa reaches up and takes his hand, gripping whiteknuckle onto it. “Overworked it.” 

“I should’ve…they should’ve... _ someone _ should have kept an eye on you. It’s not like we didn’t know you’re always an overachieving idiot.” Iwaizumi squeezes his hand and it’s almost gentle, soothing the slight sting of his words. 

“Hurts,” Oikawa says again. 

“I’ll call the nurse, get you more pain meds.” Iwaizumi rummages around next to Oikawa’s bed and gets the call button, pressing it and clicking the intercom on. 

“What can I do for you?” the nurse says through the intercom. 

“He’s in a lot of pain,” Iwaizumi says. 

Oikawa nods, then realizes the gesture can’t be seen through the intercom. “Yeah,” he says, thoughts muzzy through the haze of pain. 

“He really needs more pain medication, please,” Iwaizumi says. His voice is calm but firm, leaving little room for dissent. 

“I’ll be right in,” the nurse says. 

“It’s going to be okay,” Iwaizumi says. 

Oikawa squeezes his hand just a little tighter. “Promise?” 

“You’re smart,” Iwaizumi says. “You’ll figure something out. You could coach. Or commentate. You could do anything.” 

“Not the Olympics,” Oikawa says, and he realizes he’s blinking back tears of pain and heartbreak. 

“Maybe not,” Iwaizumi says. “I’m sorry.” 

“Yeah.” Oikawa takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Me too.” 

#####

Iwaizumi is the perfect nurse. Too perfect, for someone who should be smug where he’s instead longsuffering. He calls off work and takes care of Oikawa for the days he spends bedbound, and not once does he say anything untoward. 

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa calls in from his bedroom as he fumbles for his crutches and struggles to push himself up off the bed. “Can you roll out the yoga mat?” There’s no room to leave it unrolled in their apartment, so Iwaizumi has to unroll it each time Oikawa goes to do his physical therapy. 

“Already done,” Iwazumi says. “Got you a water bottle out of the freezer, too.” 

Just how Oikawa likes his water: half-frozen. 

There’s a catch to this, right? There has to be some kind of catch. He narrows his eyes at Iwaizumi. 

“What’s that face for, Grumpykawa?” Iwaizumi asks, crossing his legs as he sits down on the floor. Oikawa finishes lowering himself to the mat before retorting. 

“I dunno,” Oikawa bites out. “Maybe it’s watching my biggest rival go to the Olympics in my stead? Maybe it’s spending the rest of my life as a cripple?” 

“I think you’ll make progress if you’re as driven about doing the right number of exercises as you were about overdoing them,” Iwaizumi says mildly. 

That’s as much blame-giving as Oikawa has heard out of him, and it makes something inside him snap. 

“Finally gonna get it over with? Finally gonna say ‘I told you so?’” Oikawa says as bile rises in his throat. 

“That’s not what I--” Iwaizumi says. 

“It’s what you’ve been thinking, isn’t it? Stupid fucking Oikawa, it’s his own fault he didn’t go to the Olympics.” 

“I haven’t--” Iwaizumi protests, but he’s cut off. 

“Overachieving idiot Oikawa! He deserves this!” Oikawa shouts. 

“Oikawa, is that...is that what  _ you _ think?” Iwaizumi asks quietly. He gets up on his knees and lays a hand on Oikawa’s shoulder. 

“Maybe so!” He can’t lower his volume now; something about you makes his chest unclench where it’s been clenched since the first time he fell. 

“I’m not mad at you, dumbass!” Iwaizumi shouts back. 

Oikawa narrows his eyes. “I don’t believe you!” 

“Then believe  _ this,  _ Tooru,” Iwaizumi says, voice harsh and insistent and earnest, and then his lips are on Oikawa’s, harsh and insistent and earnest. He reaches his hand behind Oikawa’s head and tangles fingers in the curl of the hair at the nape of his neck, and for the first time in as long as he can remember, Oikawa finally lets go.

“I don’t...I don’t understand,” Oikawa says when Iwaizumi finally pulls back, red-faced and gasping for breath. 

“You don’t have to understand,” Iwaizumi says. “But someone really needed to remind you that there’s more in this world than volleyball. I’m sorry if I--I mean. I should’ve--” 

He’s interrupted by Oikawa grasping him by the collar and pulling him back in for another kiss. 

For once in his life, Oikawa doesn’t look for what’s next. He doesn’t think about how he can upstage himself, he just kisses the man he’s never stopped loving, the man who’s loved him even when he can’t love himself

It may not be the Olympics, but the future isn’t quite so grim so long as they face it together.   
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Kou, Adri, Kia, and Sin Central! Love you all!


End file.
